Between a Rock and a Hard Place.

Trigger Warning - S/A

In through the nose… out through the mouth. I fill my lungs until they start to ache, and hold it. Keep it there, feel the oxygen flood in to my blood stream and relax my muscles. Then I count. 40 seconds and my brain nudges towards panic. 50 seconds and my arm twitches, the ache becoming a dull throb; my lungs begging for release. 60 seconds and my eyes shut as fog slowly creeps over my mind; threatening to submerge my memories and drown my thoughts, but I hold on. 30 seconds longer and my whole body is trapped somewhere between panic and resignation, teetering on the edge of giving up.

Finally, I let the stale air slide from my lungs.

****************

Shit. My vision goes black and my ears start ringing, I focus everything I have on not hitting the canvas. Just stay on your feet. In through the nose… I open my eyes and everything is too bright, like walking out of the cinema on a summer day, but I resist the urge to close them again, honing in on the slight pixie looking girl advancing on me… out through the mouth. I lunge. My gloved hand makes contact with her jaw and I swing through as hard as I can, she staggers back, giving me the split second I need to swing again. Before my brain can catch up; she’s cornered, back against the post, arms up defending her face, my hands hitting her at twice the speed that my brain can comprehend. Like Pavlov’s dogs the second the bell rings I snap out of it, conditioned to stop instantly and step back. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, feeling all the adrenaline that’s been pumping through my veins more intensely, almost vibrating with the need to keep going; heart like a hummingbirds wings, my legs give out and I fall to the floor. Head against the canvas, staring up at the spotlights, now not bright enough; I breathe. In my peripheral people are buzzing around me, voices becoming crisp and words making sense again, I feel a smile pull at the corners of my mouth.

My head lifts from the canvas, my body being propped up like a marionette, huge hands sandwich my face forcing it upwards. I hear him speaking, his mouth moving excitedly; a smile pinching his cheeks and reaching his eyes.

Those eyes. When uncertainty creeps in to my mind, those eyes are the ones I look for, the faint lines creasing the corners; memories of happier times. I feel my senses coming back.

“Rosie you lunatic” he says loud enough that only I can hear him. I grin in to his hands, feeling how goofy I look; he lets out a laugh, letting go of my face.

Everything hurts, my arms feel like boulders hanging by my sides, I want to disconnect them at the sockets. I feel like soaring, elated, drowning in the afterglow of the fight. I don’t care if I win, I never have.

It’s times like these when I feel like an observer of my own life; I’m pulled to my feet, too fast, but that might just be me. I feel a hand clasp around my left wrist and my limp arm is thrown in to the air. An eruption of cheers and screams echo through the building, hands slapping my back a little too hard causing me to stumble forward slightly. Arms wrap around my waist and I’m engulfed in a tight embrace, lifted off the ground and spun around, I feel myself laugh in to their shoulder and hang on tighter. When my feet touch down again I am face to face with Jones, eyes bright with joy, and probably a bit too much whiskey. He stands at my height, built like a rugby player with thinning hair that he tries a little too hard to hide, he beams at me with all 5 teeth in his head on full show.

As legend has it, Jones used to fight; usually bare knuckle in a disused barn on unused land. It was good money, and a means to get his anger out. And he had a lot of it. Jones grew up with nothing, his mum walked out on his drug addled dad when Jones was just 4. He watched his dad kill himself and his older brother use the local jail as a hostel. He learned to steal when he was 8 and he was good at it; never taking more than he needed. Sharif, the greengrocer in the local town was kind to Jones and turned a blind eye, even offered him a job delivering on his bike when he was 12, in exchange for food and a couple of pennies. Sharif pretended not to notice his bloody knuckles and swollen eye when he was 15 and was beaten so badly he lost his sight for half a week. This was when he realized he could make more money fighting than delivering vegetables. He was 17 before a tall man with a crooked nose approached him after knocking Sammy, a 23-year-old bully, out with one punch. They offered him a place to train as long as he agreed to fight for them, they offered him more money than he would dare to imagine. So, he said yes.

Jones won’t talk about his past life these days, not until you get him a bottle of port and few whiskeys deep, he’ll deny most of the stories that have circulated about him; but I’ve seen him when he gets angry and I’ve seen him fight.

“You did it kid!” Jones chortles as I spit my mouth guard in to his hand. “Never doubted you for a second.” I grin and pull him in to another hug, no one makes me feel as seen as Jones does. He became like a surrogate father to me when my real one decided I wasn’t worthy enough to be declared an O’Shea any longer. This may or may not have been after I decided to beat his God-fearing brother within seconds of meeting his beloved Father before being able to confess his child molesting sins. But that’s just a theory.

Uncle Jerry, he’d always been a little too involved. He liked to sneak in to my room past bedtime, but I didn’t care as long as he left my little sister, Sarah, alone. I just didn’t understand quite how much sick he was, until I caught him with his hand up her skirt when she was 13 years old at his daughter’s wedding. Now, I can’t tell you I remember what happened exactly, because I blacked out; and when I came to, my fists were red and dear Uncle Jerry’s head had been cracked off the toilet bowl and he was laying unconscious. My fathers’ arms were clutched firmly around my center pulling me back and Uncle Jerrys wife was screaming like a banshee.

When all was said and done it was my fault for ruining the wedding whilst poor Uncle Jerry got his perverted brain all fixed up nice and shiny.

“Drinks on you tonight then?” I throw my left gloved hand Jones’ direction and he instinctively unwraps the tape from my wrist as I wiggle my hand free.

“You wish, superstar,” he lightly taps my chin with the glove “you sore?”

I shake my head. “Not yet, is it bad?” I can taste metal on my lips but the adrenaline is still vibrating through me, masking the pain of any injuries I have incurred.

“I think you’ll know about it tomorrow” he said turning my head slightly and examining the point of impact that nearly saw me hit the canvas. “But tonight, we drink.”

I plant my elbows on the sticky bar top and instantly regret my decision to do so, Carla, the bar manager catches my eye whilst filling a glass and winks at me. “Same again all round hun?” I nod at the pint-sized woman as Paddy sidles up beside me and plants his chin on my shoulder, his unshaved stubble tickling my neck.

“I reckon you could take on anyone in here,” we’re looking at each other through the mirror that lines the back of the bar.

I catch my reflection, something I generally like to avoid, but I hold eye contact with myself. The longer I look at myself the less I recognize what I see.

When I was younger my eyes weren’t shadowed by dark circles and my nose sat small and straight in the center of my face. The chubby cheeks I hated so much have dissipated and left cheek bones in their wake; my too thin lips now plumped up and swollen, although that won’t last. Surprisingly, I still have all my own teeth, even though they don’t sit perfectly straight, I like them like that. The longer I look, the more I feel like myself.

“Maybe not Toad.” I lift my chin in the direction of the notorious Toad, a young guy with hair chopped in to a messy mullet. His usually clean-shaven face is prickled with fuzz as he attempts to look older than his days. Toad is most well known for the ridiculous lies he spreads about himself. Paddy, was once cornered at a house party by a well-served Toad, he was stuck for 2 hours listening to his epic Spanish bull-run in which he was impaled 4 times and still outran the bulls.

“No, you’re right,” he lifts his chin from my shoulder and pokes my swollen bottom lip, making me wince.

“Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” he remarks with a grin poking me again, “you know people pay big money for this look.”

“Lucky me.” I push him away from me.

“You do look hard as fuck mind,” his eye’s crease at the corners, “I can’t wait to see the state of your face tomorrow.” I laugh, feeling the split in my lip reopen.

Carla puts down the last of the drinks in front of us “Can we get two shots of Tequila too please?” I hand her my card and she places the shots in front of us. Paddy throws the drink back and shakes his head as though it’ll make it go down easier.

“Fuck tequila.” He announces, closing his comically large hands around 4 pints and turning on his heel back to the table.

Pulling the pool que off the wall “who wants a game?” I raise my eyebrows in Paddy’s direction.

“Oh, she wants to go against the champ?” He lifts himself out his chair, beer in hand “let’s make it interesting.” I already don’t like where this is going but I nod in his direction to continue.

Paddy doesn’t look a day older than the night we met. It was the night I lost my family; or probably best to say my past life.

I walked out, blood-soaked knuckles swiping a bottle of champagne off the head table on the way. I stormed my way off the grand property and through the surrounding woodland, I must have walked miles as I ended up on a quiet estate, it was dark and the street lamps were the only thing lighting the way. And it was quiet, like dead silent. I continued walking through the small rows of houses each looking exactly like the last, when music started to break through the quiet. I was already three quarters of the way through the bottle and could feel the heat beginning to build in my ears. My feet turned the corner and the house at the end of the street was lit up like a Times Square, with people strewn all over their lawn. I wasn’t thinking when I entered the house and found the bathroom, I downed the rest of the champagne and caught my reflection. There were specks of blood forming fireworks around my charcoal eyes, the ends of my hair were matted and crusted and my clothes were torn at the arms where my dad had tried to grab me.

The bathroom door slammed open which shocked me out of my daze, I turned to glare at the culprit. He was a tall skinny retch of a kid, he stumbled in, his eyes widened almost cartoonish when he saw me standing there. His question mark body bolted up straight as he shut the door behind him.

“Fuck me, I wouldn’t want to see the other guy.” He slurred, looking me up and down. “I gotta piss, do you mind?” I shook my head and he slid the lock closed, suddenly I was extremely aware of where I was and didn’t know where to look, I awkwardly turned around and picked up a shampoo bottle to read as his zip slid down. I heard him chuckle under his breath “so, what’s your deal? Did you think it was fancy dress or are you an actual murderer?” I felt my eyes well with tears as the reality of what just happened hit me, I turned the bath tap on and started scrubbing my hands in the too hot water. “Wait, are you actually a murderer?” he was still slurring his words. I just shook my head. “Is this your blood?” Again, I shook my head. He clumsily dropped down beside me so his back was leaning against the tub and he could see my face, but I didn’t dare look up. Instead of asking anymore questions he took the towel that hung up beside him down and ran it under the water, he moved my face slowly towards him and gently cleaned the dried blood from around my eyes. I still couldn’t bring myself to look him in the face as tears rolled down my cheeks. “Look, there’s some really shitty people out there okay, I get it. And for the record, I don’t think you’re one of them.” He shuffled to take off his giant tie dye hoodie and offered it to me to cover my ruined clothes.

“Thanks.” Barely a whispered as I took the hoodie off him and threw it over my head. “I didn’t kill him,” I said slightly louder this time, finally I looked up to meet his eyes. They were gentle, like they wouldn’t know how to pass judgement, as if they knew it was not their job to do so. There was something deeply understanding in the way he held himself, his hands remained intertwined on his lap as he gave me the space I needed. “But I could have.” My mouth curled up at the corners, a motion that seemed too foreign to exist in that moment, but as I looked at him I saw a smile forming in his eyes, his mouth finally catching up.

“I like you.” He stated as a fact.

We left the party soon after this, his ridiculously large hands engulfing my much smaller ones to help pull me to my feet. And then we walked, and walked and walked, the sun came up at some point but we just carried on wandering and talking and he made me laugh, like really laugh.

He didn’t ask me anymore questions about my night, I did tell him eventually. One stupid game of truth or dare two years later, and he threw a shot my way “may he burn in hell” he exclaimed before knocking the drink back. And it was never mentioned again. He introduced me to Jones, and gave me his sofa.

“Loser makes out with Jones.” Paddy points his cue at me and smirks. The table erupts into laughter.

“If you want to kiss Jones you can just ask him Pad,” I remark, taking a deep glug of beer.

“Do I not get a say in this?” Jones pipes up, “I better at least be getting a drink out of it.”

“Deal.” Paddy points at Jones now, “You have yourself a deal. Rack em up.” The mood is jubilant and everybody’s spirits are high, soaking up the gentle buzz of the bar. I start arranging the yellow and red balls messily within the black triangle as Paddy, in all his drama finds the blue chalk and applies it to his cue.

Four yellow balls left, “black ball, left corner.” I point my pool cue at the socket and line myself up. My head starting to throb now and I can feel my left eye swelling as my vision is slowly being cut off. I take the shot, just a gentle nudge, that’s all it took, and the black ball disappeared in to it’s chosen hole.

“Pucker up big boy,” Paddy grins at Jones, grabbing his face in his hands and planting his lips against Jones'.

“You could at least buy me a drink first,” Jones exclaims as he pulls his face away from Paddy’s and dramatically wipes his lips.

“Speaking of,” Paddy turns to me and wiggles his eyebrows, “winner’s buying?” I roll my eyes as I turn, making my way back to the bar.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” A familiar voice sends chills down my spine. I turn my head and am met by the beady eye’s I had so longed to forget. They swept over me, slowly, they lingered on my swollen lips before sweeping down the rest of my body. My mind goes blank, I feel naked under his greedy gaze. Without a word I push past him and walk outside, trying to mask the panic building up inside my chest.

Inhale… the freezing night air hits my lungs like a punch to the gut. I lean my back against the rough brick wall and try to regain some control, my limbs start shaking violently as adrenaline floods my body with nowhere to go. Exhale… calm the fuck down. I close my eyes, but the second I do I see Sarah’s terrified face that night, I see his hand disappearing up her skirt as tears roll down her cheeks. He wasn’t scared, he didn’t pull away or try to hide. I roll my head back and open my eyes, staring up at the black sky. My whole body has stilled, my muscles no longer begging for escape. The gentle hum drum of inside the pub is the only sound filling the otherwise quiet night air.

Just as I decide it’s time to go, the pub doors open, spilling laughter on to the street and a young girl with giant blue eyes and curly hair steps outside, she glances my way and gestures towards her open pack of cigarettes. I shake my head no thanks, as I turn the corner of the pub to leave, the buzz of the pub being projected on to the streets again.

“Can I borrow your lighter?” I stop in my tracks. It’s him. I prick my ears and hear the click and sharp inhale of a cigarette being lit “much obliged.” My skin crawls at the soft slow way he carves out words. “You’re very pretty,” and I feel my muscles tighten at the memory of him catching me behind closed doors, hissing the same words.

“I’m 16.” The girls voice cuts in, she clearly doesn’t want this conversation. There’s a moment of silence.

“You look older, more… mature,”

“Get off.” She says it no louder than a whisper, but I catch it.

This time I don’t black out, I’ve made up my mind. I grab at a rock I see laying on the ground and swipe it up, planting it in my back pocket. I swing around the corner and see Uncle Jerry’s hands grasped firmly around the scared girls arm.

“Get off her.” The words leave my mouth and I feel the venom in my voice, he glances up at me.

“We really must stop meeting like this,” he snarls as he lets go of her arm, I nod at her to get inside and she doesn't hesitate a second. “Oh, what are you going to do? Hit me?” He starts sidling up to me, towering over me. I step back just as slowly as he advances on me, my heart starts pumping faster. “You know, your precious little sister, she never stopped visiting me in hospital,” my breath hitches in my throat, I keep my eyes on his, this is poker and I’m keeping my cards close to my chest. We’re dissolving in to darkness, being edged away from the light of the pub, the second his foot crosses the threshold of last light he lunges, his hands aiming for my throat. Little does he know, he stepped in to my arena, I swing up and my bare fist connects with the underside of his jaw. This knocks him off course, but not for long, he grabs at me grunting as he wrestles me to the floor. Shit, my head hits the concrete and I feel his heavy hot body on top of mine, his hands grapple at my jumper, trying to pull it up. I helplessly lash out, my arms swinging down on his head, blow after blow, I hear him chuckle unaffected. He raises up and pins me down, his eyes black as he drinks in my bare chest. This is the fear she felt. I reel my head back and spit in his face “fuck you” I growl. I never cared about winning, but I’m not losing this fight. His hands dive down to my waistband and he begins unbuckling my jeans and pulling them down. I claw at his head, kicking my legs erratically, trying anything to make him falter for just a second, that’s all I need. I kick my legs, one last big push and feel a sharp pain when I bring them down, suddenly I remember the jagged stone I stashed away in my pocket. My hands reach down, clambering until they wrap around the cold sharp surface that had wiggled itself out of my jeans pocket when he had pulled them down. Without a second’s hesitation I raise my hand above my head and bring the rock down with as much force as I can muster. It comes in to contact with the top of his head, which is now on my stomach, with a dull thud, as quick as I can I hit him again, and again and again, blood springs to the surface of his balding head and he stills, just for a second. But it’s all I need, I roll grabbing his head as I do and making sure I crack it off the concrete. Free of his grasp I straddle his waist, in nothing but my underwear and torn up jumper, I pin his arms under my knees. He looks up at me, blood trickling down his face and he smiles, a short laugh leaving his lips, my fists clench and before I can think about what I’m doing they are coming down, one after another, pummeling his face, I feel his nose break, his eyebrow split open, I feel his teeth chip but I can’t stop. My knuckles are in agony, my mind has gone numb.

I don’t stop until I feel arms wrap around my torso and pull me back in to their arms. I’m staring at the limp figure lying on the cold concrete, watching him closely, making sure he doesn’t move, the world has no place for a monster like that. I see feet approach his head and then knees as the figure bends down, they place their fingers at his neck and leave them there for a long minute. My eyes never leaving his.

“He’s dead.” It’s Jones, I look up at his face and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I feel the arms around me tighten as I shiver. My bare legs just now feeling the cold of the street below them, I tuck them up to my chest.

“Was that him?” Paddy whispers against my shoulder, realizing it’s his legs I am sat between and his arms wrapped around me tears spring to my eyes, I nod. My body starts shaking violently and a lump rises to the top of my throat, fighting off all my words. “He can’t hurt you now” Paddy whispers, “you’re okay. He can't hurt you now.”

Jones crouches down in front of me, “hey, look at me” I can’t, his hand reaches out and gently lifts my face so that I’m looking at him. He looks younger, his features softened “look at me,” Jones removes his checked shirt from over his t-shirt and covers my bare legs with it. “He’s hurt you your entire life, hasn’t he?” He nods gently encouraging me to nod along with him.

“Yeah” it comes out more of a cry than a word so I nod my head.

“And he hurt your sister?” I sob as confirmation. “Okay, so he followed you outside, yeah?” He’s nodding at me encouraging me to agree with him, “and then he dragged you out here, to where it’s dark and he tried to attack you, okay? You tried to fight back but he was too strong, so when I came looking for you and heard you scream, I came over and got him off you, yeah? He hurt you so I wanted to hurt him, and I lost control, okay?” I just looked at Jones, I couldn’t make sense of what he was saying. No, that’s not what happened. I killed him. He leans forward and gently kisses the top of my head, then turns around and gets to work.

He grabs the stone off the floor and wrapped his hands around it, he picks up Jerry’s now limp hand and wraps it around his own throat, he squeezes it there. He leans over Jerry and punches him in the ribs, puts his blood on his own hands and clothes.

“Jones, no, stop” I reach forward and put a hand on his. “I can’t let you do this.”

“Yes. You can.” He looks over my shoulder to Paddy, “you might want to get out of here kid.”

I turn my head, searching for those eyes, praying they still recognize my own. 'Please don't hate me,' his usually juvenile eyes meet mine, I feel my heart drop, I've never seen him look so tired.

"I'm not going anywhere mate." Still looking at me but aiming the words at Jones, I feel my body relax.

**************************

I reach a solid white door with a small window at eye height, the tall man in black opens the door and steps aside, allowing me to enter.

"Thank you." I mumble in his direction as my eyes scan the cream colored room and land on him. I make my way over to the little table and pick up the phone to the left of me, he mimics this action.

"Hey Superstar, I hear a congratulations are in order," Jones' cheerful voice sings through the end of the receiver. I can feel myself grinning, overwhelmed at the sight of him, looking exactly the same as the fun loving fool who gave me a chance all those years ago.

"I couldn't have done it without you." My eyes scan over him, "you've been working out?" I quiz lightly as the now bald Jones laughs, "you look great."

"I've been learning as well," he looks sheepish now, "they've been giving me classes in here, business and math, you know. They said I'm doing really good. Might even be able to start my own gym when I get out."

"You shouldn't even be in here," I whisper, meeting his eyes as a pang of guilt washes over me.

"We'll be having none of that." He stops me with a stern look, "You're doing us all proud kid, I wouldn't have it any other way."

And I knew he meant it.